


Being Afraid of What's Forgotten

by sleuthlaw



Series: horror by sleuth [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Character Death, Horror, Paranoia, Recovering From Abusive Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleuthlaw/pseuds/sleuthlaw
Summary: Evidence ID: 04212020FLogged By: A. RichardsDescription: written note found on the desk of C. Renault. Four pages of lined paper written in ink. Suspected blood droplets found on paper (04212020F-1)Requested Lab Tests:Handwriting Analysis, compare to known handwriting sample of C. RenaultTest suspected stain for blood, compare DNA to suspected biological material from the bedroom (04212020B) and reference  sample of C. Renault
Series: horror by sleuth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992904
Kudos: 1





	Being Afraid of What's Forgotten

**Evidence ID: 04212020F**

**Logged By: A. Richards**

**Description: written note found on the desk of C. Renault. Four pages of lined paper written in ink. Suspected blood droplets found on paper (04212020F-1)**

**Requested Lab Tests:**

  * **Handwriting Analysis, compare to known handwriting sample of C. Renault**


  * Test suspected stain for blood, compare DNA to suspected biological material from the bedroom (04212020B) and reference sample of C. Renault



I’m well aware of the feeling of knowing that I’ve forgotten something. And, no, I’m not referring to knowing somethings off when you forgot your notebook for a class or left the oven on before leaving the house. I mean forgetting whole days, weeks, months,  _ huge  _ chunks of time, and the events that happened during them. It’s not like simply having a hard time recalling the knowledge. It’s not like backtracking through your actions to find a lost object or struggling to recall a piece of information for an exam. 

Some context should be given before whoever reads this throws it away because I sound crazy. Mental and emotional abuse can really do quite some damage on a person -- especially when it has happened for years. For two years I was with a partner who constantly manipulated and gaslit me until I really couldn’t make decisions on my own. It’s been over for a while. I’ve had my time to heal. The point of bringing this up is that sometimes when I try to recall something that happened within that two-year span, I can’t. It’s only when it comes to him though. I’ll be on my little memory road, going through the story my memories are telling me when  _ bam.  _ It’s like hitting a solid wall with his name etched onto it. It’s solid, but with enough force, I could break through it. I don’t want to though. It’s frustrating to think he’s the reason that I can’t remember details or events every time, but I usually let it go.

Because on top of that usual frustration, I feel scared. Terrified. I know I could break through and remember if I tried but I’m scared of what will come from it. 

The relevant bits of my trauma have now been shared and no longer need to be talked about. Basically, I am familiar with  _ this  _ feeling of forgetting something. Of your brain deciding to shut it out for your own good. Of feeling scared of what there is to remember rather than what it is you forgot. 

I started forgetting small, everyday things in this way. It was something that bothered me but I didn’t think much of it at first. It was always things I could brush off — forgetting why I walked into a room or why I didn’t grab the item I intended to from the kitchen while I was in there. 

The first time I finally realized something was off was just last Monday as I was getting ready for work. One moment I was in the kitchen, preparing my coffee and watering my plants. Then in the blink of an eye, I was outside my apartment door. My prepared coffee was in my hand. I was already dressed and had shoes on. It would’ve taken me at least ten more minutes to actually get ready to leave but… there I was. I tried to remember whether I finished cleaning the kitchen before I left, turning back to go back into the apartment when it hit me.

That same mental wall. 

I felt frozen to the spot, unable to remember what happened after I started watering my basil plant. And as I tried to remember, that familiar block stopped me. I could press to remember, but a terror inside of me screamed not to. It warned me that something  _ bad  _ would come from remembering. 

It wasn’t anything like before — where all remembering would do is throw me back into memories of when I was used and hurt. I felt like whatever I forgot was going to kill me.

I rushed out to my car and headed to work. I didn’t think any more about the incident. When I got home that evening, everything was fine. My apartment was completely normal. Everything seemed fine. Everything was in its place. Everything was untouched from where I left it. 

I felt uneasy though. I didn’t like not knowing what the hell happened before I left my home. I tried to brush it off — maybe I was just letting my anxiety get the better of me again. I went to bed thinking of it, and the next morning it made me paranoid as I prepared my breakfast. Eventually, I was able to just blame it on my anxiety and spotty short term memory and try to get through the rest of the day. 

But then it kept happening. 

Entire spans of time started to just disappear. It could be anything from one minute to even half an hour of time I couldn’t recollect. Every time I would try to piece together what I had done in the missing time, that same unease came back. I was terrified of what I would remember before I could begin to determine what there even was to remember. 

It started happening daily about a week ago now. I’ve been scared to be at home or even move rooms in case it happens again. For the last three days, I haven’t moved from my bedroom unless absolutely necessary. 

It happened again. The last thing I remembered was drinking water in bed at around nine in the morning. Then I was in my office, and the sun was beginning to set. In the blink of an eye, the entire day was gone. My back was to my bedroom door.

And I was out of breath as if I ran up the entire flight of stairs. Picture frames had been knocked off the walls and some furniture had been turned over. Blood was all over my arm, and the sting of a fresh wound was on my shoulder. As I cleaned it in the bathroom, I tried to piece together what had happened. That same terror that urged me to give up and leave it alone came back, but I pressed past it. 

What little I could remember turned me into a hyperventilating mess. The hot, wet breath of something breathing over my shoulder. The putrid, overwhelming stench of rotting flesh and mold. The harsh scrape of claws against my wooden floor. 

I’m terrified of what lays beyond my bedroom door -- of what’s been lurking in my home and terrorizing me this whole time. But I’m also scared to let it be. Running away won’t end anything. Running away will mean it will keep terrorizing me. I don’t know what going back into the room will do, but it will end this. 

If this is found, I guess that whatever it is got to me. If this is found I hope that I don’t sound crazy and that I’m at least believed. Because I’m still scared to go through that door. I’m still scared of what I can’t remember. And it gives me a little peace to think that at least my fears are reasonable right now and not being dismissed as me being crazy. 

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first attempt at posting my horror works? this one is a little more personal than other pieces I've worked on or plan to publish.


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